A Cynical World
by MrsRoy
Summary: Post ep, Post Bullseye. S12 E2. Not all motives are insincere. E/O smut.


**I don't own them, I just share.**

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She knows that he's been unusually calm. Usually these types of cases, the ones with the kids, she knows they trifle his nerves. When his own kids were younger, while they were still vulnerable, she'd watch as his emotions were shot to pieces.

She's seen him in action and she doesn't expect any less.

It's the submissive nature that scares her most because she knows that he'd go so far as to take blood in his defence. It's the silent water that drowns a man.

She watches him from the door of the locker room. Her gaze lingers as he shucks his jacket, as he sits. Why is he folding it? What purpose comes from methodical convention? His head must be spinning, each stroke of virtue leaving it's never- so- little scar. This one will leave him dizzy.

She nearly jumps when he speaks. His monotone, the quiet voice at the end of the day that says he will try again tomorrow. She's not unsympathetic.

"Was he worth it, Liv?"

How does he even know that she's standing there? The more time they spend together, he seems to get that ESP deal going.

"Oh please, Elliot. We both knew what I was doing."

And then he laughs. And for some reason, she has he urge to hold him.

"A child rapist," he ribs her. As if she didn't know better. "The man hurt his own kid sister."

She's still waiting for the punch line. This humorous resignation is a matter of perspective and he's really beginning to tread a thin line.

"Glad to see you think it's funny because I sure as hell don't."

She's just willingly entered the lion's den, and he lies in wait. She's not afraid. She can tear him to pieces and still come up trumps, with his balls in her hand.

"Liv," he shakes his head, he's in for the rant, "the guy had you eating out of the palm of his hand."

Olivia moves towards him, her brow furrowed and her hands on her hips. She means business. He's the one making it personal; he's the one who's making it all about her. It's about time the man learnt some home truths.

"What, like Kathy has_ you_ wrapped around herlittle finger."

Oh, that did it. His nostrils flair and he flexes his arms, his fingers tap sporadically against his thigh and he's just lost a good sixty degrees of rationality. She knows that he can't be reasonable and angry at the same time, because she knows him, better than he knows himself.

"What would you know, Liv?"

Elliot Stabler. Big dick, little man.

She knows a desperate woman when she sees one. She's been there before. Creative extremes solve problems.

She's in his face now, encroaching upon his territory, playing with his pride, embarking on strange places, she's not one to leave herself safely upon the shore. She's bold. She squats before him, her face behind her bangs her hands braced upon his knees.

"Oh, Elliot. I know a lot more than you give me credit for."

She moves to stand. But the man's trained in reconnaissance and he's fast. His fingers curl around her wrist and he pulls her into his lap. She doesn't resist him. She doesn't argue.

"Who's wrapped around who now, Liv?"

His erection is so hard against her. This is not going to be slow. He's going to fuck her.

"Elliot?" They're so exposed here. They could both lose their jobs. He has a wife and children to support. _Fuck_. He has a wife and children.

He gives her one of his Stabler grins, one that's been patented for generations. His hand rubs her thigh as he reaches for the clasp of her trousers. He lowers the zipper.

"Live a little, Liv."

His fingers ache to find her core, to trace her delicate slit. But for right now, his cock is willing to take the hit. He watches her face flush, she must really be wanting. Her eyes close and she dips her head back. He steadies her weight with one arm, struggling with his own pants in the process.

She straddles his thighs and watches his face, waiting for the signal to pass between them, the acknowledgment that at least, for a little while, this is OK. What he really means is that he wants no other. What she really wants is not to need him so completely.

He doesn't need to know that she's ready. When she sinks onto him, it takes him by surprise. He pushes himself deep, buries himself and hopes to god that no one will ever find him.

She lays her head upon his shoulder; she can't bear to look him in the eyes as he thrusts into her velvet flesh. His hips work an erratic rhythm. She clamps down on his cock; she's going to milk him. She rocks above him, meeting him blow for blow, stroke for stroke. They have to be quick about it; there will be no margin for error today.

He slams his hand into the timber bench as she moves above him. A feast for his eyes, she's a hallucination come to life and he struggles to retain composure.

He stifles his moans against her neck, his blood runs fierce and he wants nothing more than to mark her, to prove that she is his. He wants to stake his claim, and make the others run. When his body stiffens, and he grunts and comes inside of her, he thinks he may have made his point.

His free hand dances through her curls where they're still joined as one and his thumb brushes the nub of nerves that break her.

He holds her, because it's the least he can do, because for a moment, he doesn't feel like an absolute bastard who just cheated his best friend. He's a lover, caressing his soul. For a moment, it's a beautiful illusion.

His voice is shaky, laced with emotion, the likes of which he hasn't experienced with his wife. Kathy was safe, Kathy was all he knew.

"Liv, I think we should ..."

He doesn't need to put voice to his words. He never has. She reads him like a gambler.

"It's ok, El. I understand." She smiles warmly, if hesitantly and it lifts his heart.

He knows that if they weren't here, if they weren't at work, fucking in the locker room for all to see, he'd stay, he'd hold her some more.

He kisses her before he leaves the room. He promises to make it up to her.


End file.
